Sofia

Sofia grew where Romans, Byzantines and Ottomans all paused on the road between Europe and the East, and she keeps the receipts in layers: ride the metro and the stations open onto Roman streets under glass; walk three hundred meters downtown and pass a mosque, a synagogue, a Catholic cathedral and an Orthodox basilica sharing the same square kilometer of sky. Above it all floats Alexander Nevsky's gold, and above that — always — Vitosha.

The sensible traveller starts under the Nevsky domes and the incense; descends to the Serdica ruins between the metro escalators, where the fourth century sits in the middle of the commute; walks Vitosha Boulevard toward its permanent optical illusion — the mountain rising at the end of the street like a backdrop nobody remembered to strike —; and on the second day takes the gondola up that same mountain, because in Sofia the summit is public transport away.

The Guide's honesty: the yellow brick pavement downtown is genuinely slippery when wet — the locals' skating stride is learned, not stylistic —; shopska salad arrives whether you planned it or not: accept; taxis are honest by app and creative by hail; and Boyana Church admits few people for few minutes — book the frescoes ahead: they out-argue most museums twenty times their size.